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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185932">downtown fire; shot in the dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/piecesofgold/pseuds/piecesofgold'>piecesofgold</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Noir, F/F, Multi, Sort Of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:01:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,477</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/piecesofgold/pseuds/piecesofgold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t like him,” Marfa decides.</p><p>Anya rolls her eyes. “You don’t like anyone.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anya | Anastasia Romanov/Marfa (Anastasia Broadway), Dimitri | Dmitry &amp; Marfa (Anastasia 1997 &amp; Broadway)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>downtown fire; shot in the dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i love these disasters more than anything.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marfa was curious the third night he showed up.</p><p>He ordered the same soda, sat on the same barstool and observed others scattered around, occasionally making eyes at her and grinning at Anya.</p><p>By the second week, it’s downright annoying.</p><p>Anya likes him. That shouldn’t irritate her as much as it does.</p><p>“A whole corner of bars around here,” Marfa begins, sliding him another soda, “but you’ve been in mine every night. Want to explain that?”</p><p>“Why, the luxury of your company, Marfa,” he says dryly. Her name is mocking in his mouth. She doesn’t know his, but he knows hers; courtesy of the tiny strawberry-blonde winding between tables, collecting glasses and throwing dirty looks at men with wandering hands.</p><p>Marfa would worry, if she hadn’t already seen the damage Anya is capable of doing.</p><p>“And what if I don’t like your company?” She challenges the stranger.</p><p>He shrugs, taking a long sip of his drink. “Your girl does,” he says, eyes flicking over to Anya.</p><p>“She’s not my girl,” Marfa says, too fast. It’s not a lie - she doesn’t really know what she and Anya are beyond desperate kisses in dark corners and restless hands over skin.</p><p>He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t call her out on it. “Well, she likes me well enough.” He looks Marfa up and down when she steps back to grab a cloth. “Why, you planning to kick me out?”</p><p>She snorts, wiping down the sticky surface. “If you don’t start ordering a real drink, maybe.”</p><p>“Right, ‘cause you don’t deal with enough drunk trash here.” Both their eyes slide quietly across the room, proving his point. “I don’t drink.”</p><p>“Who comes to a bar every night to not drink?”</p><p>He suddenly looks suspicious. “You ask a lot of questions.”</p><p>Marfa stiffens under his gaze, straightening up. Too many questions is exactly what you shouldn’t be asking around here.</p><p>“Interrogation is how she makes friends,” Anya chimes in suddenly, breaking the odd tension between them. She slides in beside Marfa, balancing a tray of dirty glasses on the bar and huffing. “Jukebox is bust again.”</p><p>“Did you -”</p><p>“Yes, I kicked it.”</p><p>Marfa rolls her eyes. The jukebox is always bust. “I’ll call Polly tomorrow.”</p><p>Anya nods before turning to her nameless friend bemusedly watching them. “There’s someone at your car, by the way.”</p><p>His expression darkens. He slams his drink down, unfinished, doesn’t bother saying goodbye before tossing notes on the counter and making a beeline for the door.</p><p>“I don’t like him,” Marfa decides.</p><p>Anya rolls her eyes. “You don’t like anyone.”</p><p><em> Except you</em>, she doesn’t retort.</p><p>“So.” Anya taps her fingers against the cash register. “Your place or mine?”</p>
<hr/><p>Anya has a mouth like sin and she knows it.</p><p>Marfa tries to catch her breath while Anya kisses back up her body, stretching just to lay half on top of her and nip teasingly at her throat.</p><p>They’re so tangled that Marfa doesn’t know where she ends and Anya begins.</p><p>“You’re too tense,” Anya comments into the curve of her neck.</p><p>Marfa laughs. “Think you’ve taken care of that,” she murmurs, shifting to run her nose along Anya’s cheek. She kisses her properly, trailing her fingers over the raised skin of Anya’s scars that map across her torso.</p><p>She’s never talked about them, and Marfa’s never asked - which suits her just fine. She’s got enough of her own past and shame to bury.</p><p>So she lets herself indulge for a while longer, loses herself in kissing Anya and a feeling dangerously close to home.</p><p>Forcing herself to pull back, Marfa rolls away from Anya and off the mattress, pulling on the first shirt she finds in the dark.</p><p>“Where are you going?” Anya’s watching her, not bothering to pull the sheets up where they’ve fallen down her chest.</p><p>Naked and lovely, she looks like just the sweetest thing to come home to.</p><p>Marfa clears her throat. “Work.”</p><p>“We don’t open for hours.”</p><p>“It opens when I want it to.” Not being at the bar makes her anxious; commerce is what keeps them alive. She tosses a shirt for Anya to catch. “Get dressed, you’re on inventory.”</p><p>Anya rolls her eyes. “Your bedside manner is impeccable,” she mutters sarcastically. Still, she doesn’t get up, expression dejected watching Marfa tug on a pair of torn jeans. “Would it kill you to want something good for a change?”</p><p>Marfa scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>Anya reaches over. “You know what.”</p><p>Marfa stares at Anya’s fingers pressed against her skin, familiar as the back of her own hand.</p><p>She does want, is the thing. Wants the good thing lying in her bed and looking at her with those big blue eyes, aches for milestones and small things.</p><p>Nothing they can have, here. Too many hands in too many jars and too many debts owed.</p><p>Marfa puts her hand over Anya’s and squeezes. “It might,” is all she says.</p><p>Girls like them don’t get happy endings.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s not the first time Dmitry has come in looking roughed up, but it might be the worst.</p><p>(Anya had finally let his name slip, with a sticky sweet smile and an eye roll from the man across the bar.)</p><p>Blood is soaking through his shirt, breathing painfully uneven. Marfa schools her face into an expression she hopes isn’t panicked.</p><p>She’s not sure if she’s scared for him or herself. Living on neutral ground is a safety she’s unwilling to compromise; Anya and Dmitry don’t seem to share the same concern.</p><p>While Anya dashes into the back for the meagre medical kit they keep under the sink, Marfa watches him slump over the wooden countertop. “Try not to bleed all over my floor.”</p><p>Dmitry snorts. “Doing my best.” His face is white when he raises his head.</p><p>Marfa huffs. “Are we going to talk about it?”</p><p>“Nope.” Dmitry answers with a smile, sharp as a dagger point.</p><p>“Can I help?” She avoids saying she <em> wants </em> to help.</p><p>Dmitry lifts his shirt, hissing. “You could help by getting the vodka I asked for,” he bites out.</p><p>Marfa doesn’t like his tone. She retrieves the bottle anyway, brandishing it in front of her like a baseball bat. “Speak to me like that again and I won’t even get your fucking sodas anymore.”</p><p>Dmitry scoffs, then winces. “Sorry.”</p><p>Anya returns with a handful of towels and a half roll of bandages, frowning at Dmitry unscrewing the bottle. “Since when do you drink?”</p><p>He grins, though he has no reason to in his current situation. “This isn’t for drinking.”</p>
<hr/><p>Marfa’s used to this kind of commotion. Leery regulars getting too handsy - especially with Anya, thinking she’s an easy target.</p><p>Tonight’s no different, and Marfa’s already got a hand on Anya’s shoulder to get her out of the way of getting hurt when someone else just <em> has </em>to get involved.</p><p>“She said get out,” Dmitry echoes what she’d already shouted, considerably more calm.</p><p>Anya slowly backs into Marfa when he stands up, towering above the jackass who grabbed her. Marfa squeezes the crook of her elbow, trying to calm her down while unease settles around her own throat.</p><p>“And who are you?” The cause of trouble asks. The inebriated and entitled jerk Marfa is supposed to kick out.</p><p>Dmitry smiles coldly. “The guy repeating what she said.”</p><p>Anya scoffs shakily. Even Marfa rolls her eyes at how light his humor is against everyone else's feelings, including hers.</p><p>So, yeah, she isn’t surprised when the drunk idiot gets angrier and takes a swing at him.</p><p>What does shock her is Dmitry dodging easily, grabbing the guy and slamming his face straight into the bar.</p><p>The sight of blood is what finally bolts her forward. “Alright, <em> out</em>.”</p><p>Dmitry makes to leave as well, but Anya stops him. “Not you,” she says quietly.</p><p>“He broke my fucking nose!” The idiot is shouting, hand over his face.</p><p>Marfa shoves him into the door. “And that’ll be the least of your problems if you even think about calling the cops,” she threatens. “<em>Out</em>.”</p><p>When she turns back, the small public that was gathered to watch the scene has already spread out. Anya’s wiping blood off the counter and Dmitry’s back on his barstool.</p><p>“I know how to do my job, by the way,” she manages to say.</p><p>“That means thank you,” Anya translates, reaching to clasp Dmitry’s hand. “You didn’t need to do that.”</p><p>Dmitry looks at where their hands are joined, then glances between her and Marfa. “I wanted to.”</p><p>There’s a weight in the silence that follows, heavy with the Anya’s soft expression and the look in Dmitry’s eyes that makes Marfa feel far too warm.</p><p>She takes his empty glass, clearing her throat. “Next one’s on the house.”</p>
<hr/><p>Anya doesn’t go home with her that night. She comes into work wearing a too-big red shirt and smelling of lemongrass soap that Marfa usually associates with Dmitry.</p><p>Marfa just rolls her eyes and swats a cloth at them.</p>
<hr/><p>Rumours fly around all the time, tensions building between the higher-ups and gangs on the street. It just doesn’t usually happen so fast.</p><p>“What do you mean, you’re <em> leaving</em>?” Marfa ducks into the back corridor, waving off quizzical looks from Anya and Dmitry.</p><p>A car door slams on the other end of the phone. “It’s just for a while, Polly’s friend’s got a place in -” Dunya’s ramble is cut off suddenly.</p><p>“Give it here,” Polly’s saying, probably having snatched Dunya’s cell. “Yes?”</p><p>“Pol, what the <em> hell</em>,” Marfa hisses.</p><p>“They burned the fucking store down, Marfa.” Polly's voice breaks the way it does when she won’t let herself cry. “Everything.”</p><p>Marfa goes cold.</p><p>The store Dunya had inherited from her aunt, all it’s paintings and trinkets that the three of them had spent most of their lives around.</p><p>“Everything?” She repeats, stunned.</p><p>“We don’t know what for and we’re not sticking around to find out.” Polly pauses. “You should, too.”</p><p>Marfa presses her forehead against the wall. “I can’t do that.”</p><p>She must be on speaker, because Dunya makes a wounded noise. “Marf, the bar barely survived last time - <em> you </em> almost didn’t,” she despairs. “What <em> possible </em>reason could you have to stay?”</p><p>Releasing a shuddering breath, Marfa clears her throat. “Call me when you make it wherever you’re staying.”</p><p>“Marfa -”</p><p>“We will,” Polly cuts in.</p><p>Something must show on her face when she walks back out, because Anya tells her to go home. “I can manage here for the day.”</p><p>“No, it’s -” Marfa wavers. “You shouldn’t -”</p><p>“You both need to go.” Dmitry leans forward, face grim. Marfa doesn’t ask how he knows. “It’s gonna get real ugly around here and fast.”</p><p>Anya goes pale, but she nods, glancing around at the remaining stragglers still seated. “Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, we can close up early for the night, see what it’s like tomorrow.”</p><p>Her eyes are panicked, and Marfa knows she’s feeling the same dread as her; there might not be a bar to come back to after tonight, or however long it lasts.</p><p>“You need somewhere to crash?” She addresses Dmitry.</p><p>His eyebrows shoot up. “I have a place.”</p><p>“Not what I asked.”</p><p>He glances at Anya; she nods.</p><p>“Sure.”</p>
<hr/><p>Dmitry pretends not to notice the shotgun Marfa keeps under the coffee table, and makes use of the oven she hasn’t touched in months.</p><p>“You’ve never cooked for me,” Anya accuses, poking suspiciously at the stir-fry he’s conjured up.</p><p>“Be nice to me once in a while and maybe I will,” Dmitry says mildly, not even looking up. Anya throws a pillow at him.</p><p>Marfa nibbles at her food, hiding a smile.</p><p>Gunshots start outside sometime after midnight, but that isn’t what wakes her up. Anya is thrashing around so much that for a moment Marfa thinks she might throw herself off the bed.</p><p>“Anyok,” she hisses, pinning her shoulders to the mattress to stop the floundering. “<em>Stop</em>. It’s just a dream.”</p><p>Anya’s fingernails dig into her wrist with one hand, the other pressed over her eyes, breathing deep. “God, fuck. I’m sorry.” She sounds like she’s going to cry.</p><p>Marfa softens, combing her fingers through Anya’s sweaty hair. “You’re going to hurt yourself carrying on like this.”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Anya insists, smiling weakly.</p><p>She’s not. Anya’s had nightmares for as long as Marfa’s known her - riots only make them worse.</p><p>Marfa kisses the corner of her mouth. “What do you need?” She asks. “And don’t just say me to be cute.”</p><p>Anya laughs shakily, tilting her face to kiss her properly. “Water will do, then.”</p><p>Dmitry’s standing in the kitchen already when she goes to retrieve Anya’s water, eyes bleary and hair flat over his forehead. “She alright?” He asks immediately.</p><p>Marfa sighs, letting the tap run until the water isn’t cloudy. “No. Nightmares.”</p><p>Dmitry nods as if he knows. That’s an odd thing in itself - Anya’s nightmares have always felt like a secret between herself and Marfa, one of the few disclosed.</p><p>She doesn’t quite know how she feels about someone else having it, too, but she supposes it’s not for her to decide.</p><p>Dmitry takes the glass and fills it to the brim, frowning. “Anything I can do?”</p><p>Marfa has to smile at him. “I think we’re good, thank you.”</p><p>He laughs at that. “That’s the first time you’ve thanked me.”</p><p>“Well, don’t get used to it.”</p><p>She quietly watches him shuffle back to the bed he’s made for himself on her sofa, yawning. It’s not the most comfortable place in the world.</p><p>“Come to bed,” Marfa’s whispering before she can stop herself, just loud enough for him to hear.</p><p>Dmitry turns, regarding her with vague surprise. Swallowing, he nods. “Okay.”</p><p>Anya sits up seeing them walk in together, eyes wide. Dutifully, she drinks half the glass of water while Marfa slides back into bed beside her. Dmitry sets it on the floor, chuckling when Anya reaches for him.</p><p>“Better?” Marfa murmurs, bemusedly watching them.</p><p>Dmitry’s arms secure around her, Anya pulls Marfa closer too. “Much.”</p><p>Marfa hesitates, then leans up and kisses Dmitry over Anya’s shoulder. He hums against her mouth, arm sliding over Anya’s waist to squeeze hers. He looks annoyingly satisfied when she pulls back.</p><p>Anya smiles when Marfa kisses her, looking like the cat who got the cream. Marfa just sighs and wills herself back to sleep.</p><p>They’re changing something in her, both of them.</p>
<hr/><p>“Let me see.”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“You’re <em> bleeding</em>.” Dmitry’s fingers run lightly across her jaw, forcing her face to tilt away.</p><p>“I’m gonna kill him,” Anya seethes for the thousandth time from where she’s leaning against the counter, watching Dmitry dab at the cut on Marfa’s lip.</p><p>“You aren’t going to do anything,” Marfa tells her sternly, wincing when Dmitry presses a bruise too hard. “Vaganov causes enough trouble as it is.”</p><p>“He hit you.” Dmitry's eyes remain focused on her injuries, but his jaw is set hard.</p><p>Marfa jerks away from his touch. “And I’ve had much worse, believe me.” She stands, Anya’s stubborn eyes following her.</p><p>“It’s a bad sign, him at the bar,” Dmitry points out.</p><p>“I know that,” Marfa snaps, head pounding. It’s the worst of signs, any corrupt cop darkening her door. A target directly on her back.</p><p>“So what do we do?” He presses.</p><p>“We?” Marfa laughs bitterly. “Me and Anya, maybe. You’ll be just fine, Officer Sudayev.”</p><p>She could have slapped him and he’d have the same look on his face. The utter betrayal on Anya’s tells her she didn’t know, and Marfa almost feels guilty that this is how she finds out.</p><p>“Officer?” Anya repeats, whipping her head to stare at Dmitry. “You’re a cop?”</p><p>Obviously anticipating Anya wanting to hit him, Dmitry stands quickly. “It’s - I’m not -” He looks at Marfa. “How did you know?”</p><p>“No one goes to my bar not to drink,” she says flatly. “What were you on, surveillance? Got it into your head to clean this place up and figured you’d start with us?”</p><p>“Hey, no, it’s not like that -”</p><p>“I would really start talking before Anya claws your face off.”</p><p>Anya looks like she’s about to cry, but Marfa knows how fast that can change.</p><p>Dmitry swallows, eyes flickering between them. “At first,” he confirms quietly.</p><p>“Oh, fuck you,” Anya spits, launching forward.</p><p>“Just - listen!” He holds his hands up, half pleading and half protection. “It was a surveillance stint, okay, Vaganov wanted a scope on some gang members in the area, thought you two could be an in, but -” his voice wavers. “Something changed.”</p><p>“You <em> used </em> us.” Marfa’s used to double-crossing, has a fair share of it under her own belt. But this hurts in a way she thought she’d become immune to. She can barely look at him. “For <em> four months</em>.”</p><p>“You <em> changed </em>everything,” Dmitry insists. “Marf - I quit the force two months ago.”</p><p>Something flickers across Anya’s face, but Marfa isn’t ready to forgive him so quickly. “Well, that explains Vaganov using me as a punching bag tonight,” she mutters.</p><p>“I’m sorry -” Dmitry steps towards her.</p><p>“Just get out,” she tells him, not wanting him near. “I think you’re done here, Officer.”</p><p>He looks at Anya, but she clenches her jaw and won’t meet his eyes.</p><p>There’s an unbearable silence when the door slams shut. Anya’s fists are balled against her sides, tears in her eyes when she finally looks up.</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me?” She whispers.</p><p>Marfa bites the inside of her cheek. “You love him.”</p><p>Anya blinks. “So?”</p><p>“So I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who wants to break your heart, Anyok.” Which is exactly what Marfa’s doing and hates herself from it.</p><p>“And I love you,” Anya reminds her. “But you don’t have to lie to protect me.” She pauses. “You love him, too.”</p><p>Marfa bristles. “He was using us.”</p><p>“Marf, if you think he’s anything like Vaganov then you don’t know him at all.” Anya walks over to cup her cheek, careful to avoid the bruises. “Not everyone’s out here to hurt us.”</p><p>Sighing, Marfa kisses her palm. “I wish I believed that.”</p>
<hr/><p>The week the bar burns down, Marfa packs up her car.</p><p>Anya stands beside the trunk with her rucksack, chewing her lip.</p><p>“Wasn’t sure you were coming,” Marfa says.</p><p>Anya shrugs, slipping the bag off her shoulder. “Where else would I be?”</p><p>Polly doesn’t look surprised to see them, but she opens her arms for Marfa to step into.</p><p>“Don’t say ‘I told you so’,” she warns.</p><p>Polly huffs and hugs her harder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”</p><p>Anya gets a job in an antique bookstore, and Marfa finds herself back behind a bar. There’s brightness here, a safety they never had back home. Neither of them know what to do with it.</p><p>“You’ll get used to it,” Dunya promises after a month of them sleeping on the sofa-bed, twirling her engagement ring around her finger. “It’ll take a while, but you will.”</p><p>Marfa stares up into the dark, Anya breathing into the crook of her neck, and wonders if she'll ever get to that point.</p>
<hr/><p>“Hey, Spektor, got a crowd out here!”</p><p>“Be right there!” Marfa calls, cursing at the box of new glasses she’s fighting a losing battle with.</p><p>Fucking Super Bowl weekend.</p><p>Ducking back out, she almost winces at the sudden swell of people. “Hey, sorry, what can I get you?” She asks no one in particular.</p><p>“Just a soda’s fine.”</p><p>Marfa’s first thought is wondering who comes to a bar to not drink on a day like this. The second is how fast she’d get fired if she punches him in the face.</p><p>He looks exhausted, hair too long past his ears. The last few months haven’t been kind to him, she can see that much.</p><p>“We’re out of lemons,” is what she does say, making no move to get his drink.</p><p>Dmitry smiles cautiously. “I don’t mind.”</p><p>Marfa tightens her grip on the wood, trying to steady herself. “You’ve been talking to Anya.” It’s not a question.</p><p>“Don’t blame her, she doesn’t even know I’m here,” he says quickly.</p><p>“But stalking me at work is okay?”</p><p>“I’m not -” he sighs. “Can we have one conversation without an argument?”</p><p>Marfa stares at him, incredulous. “The Super Bowl’s on, I work in a bar, how much talking did you think we’d get done?”</p><p>“Realising that now.” He shifts uncomfortably against more people pressing in. “I’m not asking you to forgive me.”</p><p>“Good, because I don’t,” she says impatiently, wanting to get to actual customers. But the look in his eyes makes her pause. “Look, it’s gonna be a long night, if you want to talk after…” she waves a hand.</p><p>Dmitry’s face lights up, nodding a little too eagerly. “I can wait. You need a ride home?”</p><p>Marfa laughs. “Let’s just start with a soda.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>comments and kudos appreciated as always!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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